


Dancing in the Deepest Oceans

by ladycinnamon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-War, Queen Sansa, Redemption, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Sansa wants to honour the memory of him, Sansa wants to make statues for some of them, Sansa-centric, She is bonding with Yara, She really misses him, Spoilers, Theon has bastard children by the way, Theon-centric, You can view her love for Theon as romantic or platonic it's very ambiguous, many characters are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 17:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18952552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladycinnamon/pseuds/ladycinnamon
Summary: After everything, after his treason and every single mistake that followed, he became a hero. And no one cared.Well, she did.Or, the one where Sansa has to convince everyone to let her commission Theon's statue for saving Bran and Yara visits her to discuss it.





	Dancing in the Deepest Oceans

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I will warn you that english is not my first language so I am very sorry for any inconsistencies and mistakes in general. I did try my best to write it, so please give me a chance! 
> 
> Anyway, I had this idea of how Sansa and Yara would bond over, well, Theon, and also over how hard it is to be a woman in charge. That's how the story came to be, and it took me over half a week to finish it, because I did a lot of research to portray an independence festival in the North. Also, the title is a reference to "Just Like Heaven" by The Cure, because it reminds me of Theonsa somehow...?
> 
> I won't spoil anything so enjoy your reading!

The first year of her reign had passed, and of course there would be a huge celebration  — It was also the first anniversary of the independence of the North. Sansa was busy coordinating the arrangements for the festivities and ruling her kingdom. Even so, she would eventually take her time to visit the weirwood in the northern ancestral seat to take her mind off of everything. That was the spot where the Battle of Ice and Fire had ended, when Sansa’s sister defeated the Night King. That was also the spot where Theon Greyjoy lost his life saving Bran’s. 

 

It was unfair, the Queen came to conclusion, that Theon died saving the current King of the Six Kingdoms, her younger brother, and still had his feat hugely unacknowledged. Bran wasn’t the only one for who the Greyjoy had risked his life to protect, she remembered. There was a time when both of them had shared the horrors of falling victims to Ramsay Bolton, her last husband. Sansa was ready to die trying to escape. She  _ would have died _ if Theon hadn’t pluck up the courage to kill Myranda and help her out of Winterfell. In his own words, he would die ensuring that Sansa reached the Wall safely to be under Jon Snow’s protection. And, additionally, Theon Greyjoy also saved his sister Yara’s life. After everything, after his treason and every single mistake that followed, he became a hero. And  _ no one cared. _

 

Well, she did. That was why Sansa decided to commission a statue of him to be under said weirwood tree. Everyone would have to remember him for the great things he did, not for his previous treachery and not for his consequent humiliation. She already dedicated a lot of her time and energy to bury the memory of the Boltons and whatever they did to them both. No one would know, not from her words. 

 

To have a Greyjoy statue on northern lands, however, could not sit well with many lords of her kingdom, she was very aware, but it could also infuriate a certain ironborn lady who was not under her command, and Sansa knew best than to let that happen. So, instead, she sent Yara a raven. In her message, the Stark Queen asked for permission to immortalize Theon as a hero of the North, and made her points. She knew that his sister was still offended by him being cremated during the aftermath of the Battle of Ice and Fire instead of having his corpse returned to the Iron Islands for the proper rituals of House Greyjoy. Sansa could sympathize with that from her experience with what happened to Robb and Catelyn’s bodies and still regretted the cremation sometimes. The Queen could only expect Yara to understand that her intentions came from a good place, and she didn’t have her hopes up. 

 

Weeks passed by and Sansa was yet to received a word from the Iron Islands, which she already had mused as a possibility. Slightly disappointed, she decided to redirect her mind to the upcoming celebrations, hoping that the statue subject would come up again eventually. That is, until one of her officials informed her of a small iron fleet coming their way, not looking like a threat, but rather a retinue.

 

She waited for them and less than three days later was informed that the fleet had reached their nearest bay. It was on the eve of the independence anniversary that Yara’s retinue arrived on Winterfell, and Sansa was ready for her. 

 

Yara Greyjoy, as usual, was wearing breeches, knee-high boots, leather gloves and a breastplate with her house sigil, plenty of light-weight weapons secured in her belt. Taking into account the northern climate, she also covered herself with a thick black fur coat. In contrast, Sansa sported a light-blue dress with grey wolves embroidered trims, Tully brooches, wool gloves, a fur coat more stylish than Yara’s and, of course, her crown. Despite their very different tastes in clothing, both exuded power and were undoubtedly equals.

 

“I expected you to send me back a raven, not yourself.” Sansa broke the silence, trying to examine Yara’s reaction, which read mostly as confusion, anguish and curiosity. 

 

“And I did not expect a Stark to ask me for a Greyjoy statue, you can believe me.” The ironborn answered after a beat. “I saw a lot of food on my way here, so I suppose independence is going great for you, aye.” 

 

“We are faring well, thank you. How are the Iron Islands doing so far?” There was not much emotion in Sansa’s tone beyond plain cordiality towards her guest, and they were both aware of this. 

 

“You don’t have to pretend to give a damn about the Iron Islands, Your Grace _. _ ” Yara emphasized, knowing that the Queen in the North took no offence, and looked rather relieved to drop the facade and get to the point. “We both know what you want to discuss, so get this over with.”

 

Sansa shifted on her seat and glanced towards her queensguard. There were things she would like to discuss with Yara, yes, and perhaps even bond over, but she did not feel comfortable sharing them with her bannermen just yet.  

 

“I believe I already made most of my points in the message I sent you, didn’t I?” She held her gaze with Yara’s, which was admittedly not an easy task.

 

“And I am giving you the opportunity to sell them to me eye to eye. Out of my respect for you, as you can see. Now it is your turn to show me your respect, if you may.”

 

“I see. Fair enough. Would you follow me down the crypts so we can discuss the matter more privately?”

 

“Why?” Yara displayed her famous wicked smile that painfully reminded Sansa of another famous Greyjoy smile, never to be seen again. “You haven’t told your men about this yet, have you?” 

 

“No, I have not.” The Stark admitted. “I know it won’t be an easy task to convince them all, as much as I know it won’t be an easy task to convince you, so I made the decision to take one task at a time upon myself.”

 

The Queen of the Iron Islands scoffed but shook her head in agreement. 

 

“Maybe you really are fit for ruling, aye. A wolf with brains, for a change.” Yara seemed to expect some reaction out of Sansa, who let her down by maintaining her poise. “I will follow you to your crypts and hear what you have to say then.” 

 

“Very well. I will lead the way, Your Grace. Come.” 

 

Sansa directed her guest all the way to the crypts and ordered her queensguard to wait for them outside. While inside, there was still apparent damage to the tombs from when all the Stark ancestors buried there rose from the dead. The northern Queen had demanded the reconstruction of the crypts along with the rest of Winterfell a year before, but she knew it would take many decades at best. Ned’s, Brandon’s, Lyanna’s, Rickard’s, Catelyn’s, Robb’s and Rickon’s tombs were the first ones to be restored, along with the statues of those who had one beforehand, so Sansa was satisfied enough, even if their tombs stayed empty. Catelyn’s and Robb’s bodies were never retrieved in the first place, and they weren’t very successful in identifying the others’ corpses amongst thousands. 

 

“If we are talking about statues, I thought the crypts would be fitting. Don’t you agree?” Sansa asked with a bit of humour implied and Yara answered with the rise of an eyebrow. “As tradition goes, all Lords of Winterfell buried here had a statue in their resemblance next to their tombs. There were exceptions. My father,” the Stark stared at Yara, who tried to maintain a neutral expression at the mention of Ned, “he commissioned statues for both of his siblings, including Lady Lyanna. I intend to do the same for my siblings, even Jon Snow if my power allow me so.” Again, Sansa studied the Greyjoy’s expression, who this time could not hide her scorn completely as she furrowed her brows. 

 

“Of course you do, Your Grace.” Yara answered, crossing her arms behind her back and pacing. “What else?” 

 

“I already commissioned Robb’s and Rickon’s statues, you see. I will mourn their empty graves for the rest of my days, but maybe it could give me some solace to have something resembling their faces while I do so. I am still trying to find at least one sculptor who knew what they looked like.” She lowered her gaze and walked towards Ned’s statue. “I don’t see my father when I look at it. I only see a stone stranger staring back at me. When I lay at night, I force myself to remember him so I won’t forget his face, but sometimes I can only remember his head coming off his neck.”

 

Yara stood there observing Sansa’s stoic posture, not knowing exactly what she was supposed to say or do. The ironborn did not feel much, if any, sympathy for Ned Stark’s death, but she was aware that that was not expected of her by his daughter.  After a few seconds of silence, Sansa turned to face her, and surprised the Greyjoy with her lack of tears. It must be a painful memory, the execution of her father, but one that she is very much used to by that point, and that is somehow sadder. 

 

“I have mostly forgotten my older brothers’ faces as well, so I think I can understand that.” When Yara finally spoke, it was a reminder to Sansa that she was not the only one to face tragedies in her family, but she suspected that the northern Queen knew that already. “What about Theon?”

 

Sansa smiled the faintest of smiles, and walked towards the Queen of the Iron Islands. Then, she took a singed Stark sigil out of the inside of her fur coat and handed it to Yara. 

 

“He was family to me. I gave this sigil to him right before--”

 

“His cremation.” Yara interrupted, but there wasn’t anger in her voice. 

 

“Yes. You are correct. And now I carry this sigil with me everywhere to remind me of him, but it’s not enough.” 

 

The ironborn examined the sigil briefly and returned it to Sansa. 

 

“Why under the weirwood tree?” She inquired. 

 

“It’s where he died. And it’s also because I cannot have it here.” 

 

“So how would you have his statue? As a Stark? Which of your sculptors knew my brother’s face? Or should I say  _ your _ brother’s face? Am I still allowed to call him family?” Half of her questions were genuine, the other half were anguish rethorics, but Sansa still held her gaze.

 

“As a Stark, yes. And as a Greyjoy. That is what he was. Theon will always be your family, I am the one asking you to allow me to call him mine too.” Yara looked at her supplicant eyes and knew she was speaking her truth. It still stung. 

 

“Maybe he saw you more as family than he ever saw me.” Sansa shook her head in silent disagreement. “Even if I said no, would that stop you?”

 

“Why would you say no?” The northern Queen showed more and more emotion as their conversation progressed, and she seemed increasingly insecure over the outcome. Yara could tell how much it would hurt Sansa if the ironborn actually said no to her request.

 

“I can see why I should say yes. I’m not stupid, I read your message. And yes, it would help my brother’s memory, and yes, that is a beautiful gesture with beautiful intentions. Now, can you see why I should say no?”

 

“I can.” Sansa surprised Yara by answering. “I have to be honest with you when I say that I have no idea of what the repercussions would be if I followed my plan. What I am doing is out of love and a desire to preserve his memory. To prevent him from being seen as a traitor, or as a target of pity and scorn in my kingdom. I can’t predict how the ironborn would react, and I can’t even predict how the northerners would react, but I can’t just resign and do nothing.”

 

Yara stared at her intrigued for a few seconds, then smiled  —  with no hostility. 

“You have iron in your blood. I hope you won’t take offence in that.”

 

“I won’t.” Sansa smiled back. 

 

“What if he had stayed alive? What do you think would have happened to him?” The Greyjoy pondered. 

 

“Probably would have returned to be by your side in the Iron Islands. But if he didn’t, I would have made him my Hand. Hells, that is the most I could do and it wouldn’t be enough still.” She looked away, trying to picture how things would have been different then, even if it was painful to do so.

 

“Just like the statue thing.” Yara suggested.

 

“Just like the statue thing.” Sansa confirmed. 

 

“And the northerners would be pissed off with ya.” 

 

The Stark Queen laughed. It would have been a much more complicated scenario than wanting to commission a statue for a Greyjoy. 

 

“Yes, they would. So it’s probably for the best that he would have stuck with you instead, don’t you think?”

 

Yara shrugged. 

 

“With all honesty, Your Grace, maybe he wouldn’t after all. I don’t know. Well, what I do know is that Theon would be very proud of what you have accomplished.”

 

“What I have accomplished? I suppose that’s true. But you… You became Queen of the Iron Islands. I think it’s safe to say he would be very proud of the both of us.” 

 

“With me being Queen of the Iron Islands and you Queen in the North, I guess the only way my brother could be more satisfied is if his cock grew back. But then again, I thank the Drowned God that didn’t happen or else the throne might not have been mine for much longer.” Yara laughed but Sansa remained silent, somewhat shocked by her manner of speaking. “Wrong crowd, I suppose.”

 

“Is it of common knowledge in the Iron Islands? You know…” 

 

“I mean, yes, Euron made sure to spread the news, but not  _ everyone  _ believes in it, ya know? Unfortunately, rumours spread fast across the kingdoms. You should know that.”

 

“I do.” Sansa sighed. “But I never disclose to anyone the extent of our tortures. Let them guess, I won’t say it.”

 

“Sometimes letting them guess can be worse.” Yara offered.

 

“Even their imaginations can’t go to darker places than Ramsay’s. I’m sure of that. Whatever they make up cannot be any more awful than the truth.”

 

“Solid point. I, too, have been a prisoner of a murderous psychopath for a while. Even I can’t fully imagine what you two have been through. I’m sorry it happened.” 

 

“Don’t be sorry it happened. Be happy we survived them. Our murderous psychopaths, I mean. They are dead now. They wanted our crowns and they are dead. Rejoice.” 

 

Yara smiled as that was the truth. They were no victims, they were the ones winning, and despite their many cultural and political differences, the Queens respected each other. It was not an easy world for a woman’s rule, and that was something they could bond over. The ironborn had heard of Sansa’s crowning ceremony and how she wore her hair loose and her dress white. A different sort of power demonstration than what Yara was used to, but an effective one anyway. It sent the message that whatever others may say about the Stark girl being ruined after being  _ broken in _ , they could very much shove it up their arses. She was their queen now, and a strong one for all that mattered.

 

“You don’t seem to be wearing armours anymore.” Yara pointed out, referring to Sansa’s dress.

 

“I don’t have to. No more hiding, no more blending in, no more armour to protect myself from everyone. I’m strong enough without it. Took me long enough to realize that, but I finally did.”

 

“You are the most important person in the North right now. There must be a lot of people doing the protection thing for you. You may as well take a break from defending yourself, aye.” The Greyjoy joked and managed a smile out of Sansa. 

 

“Have I ever told you about my last conversation with your brother?” The northern Queen suddenly asked. 

 

“We have barely spoken to each other after the council that elected  _ your  _ brother as the new King, so I have to say no.” 

 

“Do you want me to?”

 

Yara sighed. They had been talking a lot while standing, and she had just arrived from a weeks-long trip that included some horse-riding, not exactly her favorite sport. Still, it would be a lie if Yara said she didn’t want to hear about it. What could her little brother possibly have said to Sansa during what he correctly thought to be his last night alive? It would be a story worth hearing about, that’s for sure.

 

“Please.” She answered, finally.

 

“I will be more than happy to do so, but if you allow me to be honest, I think we should go to some place where we can actually sit down and chat. My royal feet are hurting royally bad.” 

 

They broke down in laughter. 

 

“Finally you said it. I was trying really hard to not be rude and sit over one of your ancestors’ tombs.” 

 

“Come with me. I will start the story. Theon and I were sharing a last meal before battle. The most bland soup you can think of. So, of course, we were asking each other about what had happened in our lives since we parted ways.”

 

The pair left the crypts with Sansa sharing her story as promised, with as much detail as she could remember. She informed Yara that she was aware of what had happened in the Iron Islands up until Yara’s rescue. Theon had learned of Ramsay’s execution, and his reaction was filled with mixed emotions. Sansa reassured him that he did not deserve the same fate of his torturer. He was uncomfortable with the stares of other soldiers and lords who ate their meals nearby, and she held his hand to calm him down. They reminisced over childhood memories together, even though they had barely spent time around each other then. Theon confessed to an old fancy of his that Lord Eddard Stark would marry him to Sansa and he would officially be their family, afraid that she would laugh  —  and she did, but not out of malice, as she found it amusing and endearing. So he laughed too, relieved. 

 

When they finally made their way to a comfortable room, Sansa was mostly over with her recollection. The northern Queen was served with lemon cakes, which Yara refused, though accepted the offer of red wine. 

 

“I don’t find it surprising that my brother thought about marrying you, even if you are a greenlander wolf. He wasn’t that far from it anyway. And I can see the appeal.” The Greyjoy winked and took a sip from her goblet. Sansa Stark indeed wasn’t a painful sight, that was well known throughout the kingdoms of Westeros. 

 

“That is very flattering, Your Grace.” Sansa gently detoured Yara’s flirtatious comments. “I am done with marriages for the time being. Even thinking about them. The only marriage I can think of is between me and my nation.”

 

“As one would in your place. But may I ask what will be the future of your house, then? I recall you pointing out that King Bran, the Broken won’t be seeding anyone, aye. And your sister, that wild thing, doesn’t seem that interested in bringing cubs into this world either. I heard she rebuffed a proposal from the new Lord of Storm’s End.”

 

“I wonder about that too, yes. It lays upon my shoulders the heavy burden of pondering which duty I’m more bound to, if it’s my duty to my kingdom or my duty to my family’s legacy.” Sansa answered pensative. “I learned from experience that wolves are stronger in a pack, and right now I feel more like the lone wolf who dies when winter comes. Arya is off to her adventures, and Bran is the Protector of the Realm as well as the Third-Eyed Raven, whatever that means. We will see whether or not I will decide to ever marry again, but  _ if  _ I do so, the choice shall be entirely mine.” 

 

That seemed like a reasonable answer, Yara concluded as she finished her wine. 

 

“And what about your house? You haven’t married still, if I’m well informed.” 

 

“I have not. It’s hard enough being Queen of the Iron Islands as it is. They got it wrong if they think they can tame me. I won’t have a cock bossing me around and ruling in my place. I worked hard for the crown and payed the iron price for it too.” She spat her words as if they were poisonous while inside her mouth.  “But my thirtieth nameday is nearing, and I know that a kraken in my belly is expected of me, the last of the Greyjoys. Well, fuck ‘em. I was never one to follow expectations. Let them have another kingsmoot for all I care, but I will rule them for decades before that happens.”

 

“So you don’t care, then? If your house comes to extinction?” Sansa raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Just search for any of Theon’s bastards and give him the name. They did it for the Baratheons, didn’t they? Poor bastard who can’t even speak like the rest of those southern highborn lords. I kinda like the fella.” 

 

Sansa had heard about the possible existence of Theon’s baseborn offspring before. It still shocked her that Yara would bring it up so casually. 

 

“Have you ever met any of them?”

 

“Theon’s children? Not formally, but I’ve run into many little boys and girls suspiciously similar to my brother, and I know for a fact that he’s slept with some of their mothers. Still, no one came asking for a bastard surname. Not that I’m aware of. Less nuisance to me, so I’m good.” 

 

The Queen in the North remained silent, absorbing the information. She too had encountered children with that sort of devious smile who seems to speak  _ I know the most secret joke of the world and you don’t _ . Theon bedded more women than Sansa could think of by his twentieth nameday. And then the numbers stopped for good. 

 

“Well, you made good talk, Your Grace. I’ll give you that. Now if you allow me, I must rest a while before heading back home.” Yara stood up, realizing that the conversation must come to an end. 

 

“I will make the preparations for you and your retinue for the night. Wouldn’t you like to stay for the celebrations?” Sansa invited out of formality, already predicting her guest’s answer.

 

“Nay, thank you for the invitation. I would rather make myself acquainted with one of your best brothels nearby. And maybe some food.”

 

“Very well. I will see what I can do for you.” She paused. “I am no expert in either, you see.”

 

Yara cackled. “I entrust you with that.”

 

As the ironborn turned to leave, Sansa anxiously reached out to her.

 

“Your Grace still hasn’t answered my request.”

 

The Greyjoy turned on her heels with arms crossed behind her. 

 

“I think you already know my answer.” And then, as she made her exit, “I wish you good luck with the northern lords, aye. Make my brother look good, will ya?”

 

Sansa smiled, pleased with the outcome. There was much work to do during the eve of the independence celebration, but she suddenly wasn’t as tired and took care of it all. Still, the Queen went to her chambers sooner than usual, because as much as the day after would be one of festivities, it would also be one of hard convincing. She rested. 

  
  
  
  


*

 

When Sansa’s reign begun, winter had ended. The spring was gentle on the North and allowed them to repair their kingdom as quick as they could from all the hardships of recent years. The famine was soon over, but it would take a generation to recover from human losses. Her army was in the expected state after a war, which was not good shape, so the Queen was thankful for the peaceful times they were experiencing. After a year under her rule, Winterfell was already looking somewhat like home again. Now, spring was giving space for summer through Essos and Westeros, it seemed like. 

 

Yara was already off her way before most of the castle awoke, and that included Sansa. The northerner concluded that it was best for the Queen of the Iron Islands to not stay away too long, specially in a land who could still be hostile to a Greyjoy. She could only hope that one night would be enough to give them energy for the trip back home, since it would take weeks even with a small entourage. 

 

“Your Grace, the last party has arrived at our gates.” They informed her when the last of her vassals confirmed for the festival, House Manderly, finally reached Winterfell. 

 

“Good. Are they settled?” 

 

Representatives of House Glover, Cerwyn, Hornwood, Reed and a few others were already settled to their designated chambers in the castle. The Mandarly party was admittedly larger, and therefore took longer than southernmost bannermen to arrive. Coming from White Harbor, they brought with them an offer of clams, crabs and other seafood.

“They are, Your Grace. The festival will begin at your command.”

 

The festival would play out mostly like any autumn harvest that the North had seen. Bannermen representatives and part of the smallfolk of winter town would feast in the Great Hall and later dance to the famous songs and the new songs alike. A tourney was set to take place during the independence celebration as well, with Sansa being the original queen of love and beauty, something that obviously reminded her of her aunt Lyanna and how a crown of winter roses once may have started a rebellion. Still, she was excited for the festivities, aware that it would boost morality amongst her people and help to solidify the sovereignty of the North. The Queen was also aware that the main reason her vassals came all the way to attend the feast was to discuss important matters of the kingdom, and that is what she would do. 

 

It was the perfect occasion to bring up the statues, during the meeting between the northern high lords. There, Sansa would listen to their complaints, find common ground to appease to them, share great news and, when they were all sufficiently drunk and contended, she would inform her bannermen of her plan. Protests and worries were expected, but the wolf ruler was too much a Lord Petyr Baelish’s alumni to dread their words, knowing that she could rather easily convince them under the circumstances presented. 

 

Things went accordingly. When the sun was setting, the feast begun. Sansa had the first try of all courses, intelligently eating only a small amount of each to not feel nauseated before the end of the night. Skilled musicians played their instruments and sung to them throughout, managing a silent tear out of their lady during “Brave Danny Flint”, which somewhat echoed her own misfortunes. People started dancing eventually, some less graceful than others, and the Queen declined most invitations to join them. For a long time, it was a joy lost in her, but that was in the past, she would like to think so. 

 

Finally, the time came to discuss things with her guests. They all excused themselves from the Great Hall and met for a planned reunion. Sansa listened to their requests stoically, and asked for a private moment with her advisors to provide them with answers. It wasn’t as hard as she had previously thought. Their requests were reasonable enough and their problems had mostly easy solutions, which she offered when they were called back inside. Her Lords and Ladies were understanding of the tough position of ruling the North after a rough war followed by a rough winter so they weren’t as demanding. The negotiations went rather peaceful, so the red wolf made her request. 

 

“I wanted to use this opportunity to ask for a few things myself.” The attention was instantly shifted on her and they all fell silent. “As you all know, I commissioned statues for my beloved brothers, Robb and Rickon. I know some of you were unimpressed with my older brother’s mistakes during the war, but have all mostly forgiven him with your understanding and loyal hearts. For that, I thank you.”

 

That was not what she wanted to say, but what she knew that  _ they  _ wanted her to say. A loud cheer was their response. 

 

“I now ask you to find it in your hearts to allow a statue of Prince Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands under the weirwood tree on the godswood. The spot where he died protecting my brother, King Bran.” 

 

All sound died in their mouths once again and some shifted on their seats as if they were made of swords just like the infamous Iron Throne, but pointier. Some swallowed their spit. Some furrowed their brows. And someone must’ve been holding their farts because in that moment even the buzz of a fly could be heard. 

 

“Why, Your Grace?” Silence was broken by Meera Reed, who was accompanying her lord father as his heir. 

 

“I’m glad you asked, as I wish to present you all with the reasons behind my desire.” Sansa started but paused, expecting a retort, and was not let down. 

 

“And Your Grace expect us to listen to why we should agree for a statue of a traitor? He may have protected your brother, but he took this castle from him before that. Murdering Ser Rodrik, none less.” One of the fiercest Stark loyalists spoke, chiding her proposal. “Your Grace, I respect you as much as my father respected yours and my ancestors respected yours before that. I understand that the Greyjoy saved Your Grace’s life once, but I can’t see how even his death paid his debt for his crimes.”

 

“Theon, the Turncloak. That shall make one hell of an interesting conversation. Let Your Grace speak.” Another lord offered and took a sip from his goblet, entertained already. 

 

“Theon Greyjoy turned on House Stark and took Winterfell from us, that is true. He sentenced Ser Rodrik Cassel, the man who tutored him in the arts of war, to a botched execution. That man has no place for love in the North.” The Queen begun and was faced with wide-eyed expressions from most. If she wanted to convince them of forgiving Theon, it didn’t seem like a good place to start.

 

“And Your Grace wants us to forgive him?” Lord Cley Cerwyn asked intrigued. 

 

“That man is long dead. He died at the hands of Ramsay  _ Snow  _ when the Boltons took over this castle. When I first came back after escaping from King’s Landing, however, I witnessed his rebirth. None of you know the entire story, and out of respect, I won’t share what I know anyway, but I do believe that the new Theon had paid a lot for his sins.” She sighed. “He was facing them everyday. He was facing them when I came back, whenever our eyes met, and whenever he had sight of me.” They all looked at her, still not knowing how to take it. Some of them so drunk that Sansa wondered if they were taking anything in, but it didn’t really matter, since it wasn’t the point of her speech that they  _ all  _ listened. She only had to convince those who did. “When I encountered Theon Greyjoy for the first time in years, it was the day he helped my escape, and he wasn’t the same man who betrayed my brother, as that one was only his namesake. Just his namesake, I tell you.”  

 

“He murdered two children.” Meera Reed reminded them, and Sansa looked down.

“In his first life, he did. In the next one, he despised the man who did it. Despised him so much that he told me himself that Theon Greyjoy deserved the worst tortures the worst man alive could think of.” She responded. 

 

“That is something most of us would agree with.” The one who called him Turncloak said.

 

“And I agreed with him at the time. But I believe that the gods gave him another chance. I don’t know if it was the old or the new, the Drowned God, the Lord of Light, or all of them as the Many-Faced God. I just know that when he held my hand as we jumped from the castle’s walls onto the snow, he was already someone else. What is dead may never die, I heard they say it amongst his kin. But rises again, harder and stronger. That’s what he did, it seems to me.” 

 

“But even if you say that the Theon Greyjoy who betrayed the North and the Theon Greyjoy who later protected your brother are not to same, how would you tell that through a statue? How would the northerners know the difference between the traitor and the hero? How would  _ we  _ know it?” Lord Wyman Manderly inquired. 

 

Sansa pondered for a while. She had asked herself the same many times, and not only about the stone Theon, to which Lord Manderly was referring. When he was still flesh and bones, even if some was missing, she asked herself that. What  _ was _ the difference between the Greyjoy before and after Reek and how could she know there was any? The physical change was more obvious to point out, but Sansa never cared about that. She wanted to know why she trusted him after everything, and why she felt guilt while doing so. Was that relying on the villain who once betrayed Robb? That could not be. The shivering lad, frightened by his own shadow, would never be capable of those horrific things. Sansa would often hear him weeping outside her chambers, before or after bringing her food. Theon Greyjoy, the first one, would never have risked his life for another, but the second one… 

 

“Because the Theon who saved me and my brother was a Stark. Not our ward. He was family. That Theon was as much a wolf as I am, and would never betray me, I’m sure. I know it in my heart.” Sansa took off the Stark sigil she always had with her. “I gave it to him while I mourned his death. I would never have given it to the other one. That’s how you should know that they  _ are  _ different.”

 

Some seemed to think of retorting, but either couldn’t find the words on simply changed their minds, closing off their mouths as soon as they had opened them. 

 

“I don’t ask you to forgive Theon Greyjoy, the Turncloak, and have his statue in our godswood. I ask you to honour the memory of Theon Greyjoy, the Stark, and have  _ his  _ statue under the weirwood tree where he died a hero. But I could never deny that he was also ironborn and carried the kraken in his armour in his final moments. He was a kraken, indeed, and he was a wolf. So I say mark him in stone as both.” 

 

Her bannermen were all rambling to each other after her speech, trying to make up cohesive sentences while their words came out all slurred because of the wine. In such case, it was fair to say that the Queen had made the most eloquent points out of them all. Especially when a few couldn’t even mutter anything properly enough to be understood. 

 

“If Your Grace thinks that the common folk will understand, I can make that effort too.” It was Meera who once again spoke when no one else could. 

 

“I think it may be a mistake, in all honesty, but I will be glad if Your Grace proves me wrong.” Lord Robett Glover followed. 

 

“If you all agree, I would like to announce my decision to the common folk at the end of the tourney. I hope to have them understand my reasoning, as it is far from my intention to anger my people. Ultimately, the other northerners will unknowingly decide the matter with their reaction to the news, but I ask you first.” Sansa almost supplicated with her tone and gaze, in a calculated move. 

 

“That is your castle and your kingdom to decide. I will stand by Your Grace’s decision.” Lord Manderly answered, reclining in his seat. 

 

“If Your Grace says that someone is a Stark, then they are a Stark before my eyes. At least I will try to see it this way.” Lord Hornwood managed to answer. 

 

A couple of lords scoffed but uttered no offence. Rather, they chose not to vote, but didn’t seem that outraged overall. Sansa was concerned by their lack of response, but hoped she could manage to sway them to her side by the last day of festivities. Jolly men are more easy to handle and convince. Some have been convinced of worst things than accepting the commission of a stone statue.

 

Since most of them seemed too tired or too drunk to continue, Sansa dismissed them to their rooms. The others were free to return to the Great Hall if they wanted to, and a handful chose to do so. No doubt was on her mind that after the reunion at least half of them would think it over in their sleep, as she knew she would, but the Queen was confident that she had gathered some support to her plan that night. Even if the speech was calculated beforehand, Sansa mostly spoke her truth, and they couldn’t deny it. Say they did, the red wolf learnt a thing or two about the game of faces from her sister who could come in hand in such situation. She learnt valuable things from many others. 

  
  
  
  


*

 

The celebrations lasted three more days after the opening feast. As much as Sansa enjoyed herself, there was always something to do, things to take care of and a rousing speech to prepare. When the last day came, the final joust was between the tourney’s mystery knight and one of the champions designated to secure Sansa as the queen of love and beauty. She did not mind losing the title and entertained herself by wondering which lady in the ocean of faces could be the one to receive the honour. Some would be obvious choices for their beauty and lack of betrothed, but the outcome could always be a surprise, as experienced during the tourney at Harrenhal decades earlier. 

 

When the tilt began, everyone leaned closer and cheered louder. Most cheered on the Queen’s champion, but others had more fun encouraging the mystery knight. As expected of her, Sansa urged her knight to defend her title, and he did seem to have the upper hand at the beginning. Thus, it was very unexpected when the mystery knight shifted things in the blink of an eye and disarmed his rival before anyone could properly react. 

 

After a moment of shock, people timidly started to cheer on the winner, and Sansa stood up, holding the crown of winter roses. The mystery knight approached his Queen and took off his helmet before her, revealing his identity. It was one of the lords who scoffed and resisted her suggestion of Theon’s statue during the opening day. 

 

He held the flower crown and rode as he circled the arena, sometimes slowing down in front of some beautiful maidens with expectant gaze. Nonetheless, the lord didn’t stop until he was yet again facing the wolf lady, her eyes as frosty as the roses. Sansa gripped the crown in a reflex when it was thrown at her. 

 

“You have your queen of love and beauty right here. Your Grace has a speech for us?” He asked with no mockery in his voice. 

 

“I do.” Everyone screamed and chanted as she stood up, placed the winter roses on top of her own crown and signaled for them to stop. “We are an independent kingdom once again, the Kings of Winter would be proud. My dear brother would be proud. It pains me that the wolf died too soon to lead his pack to glory, but I shall honour what he started.”

 

She glanced over her vassals, some of them encouraging her to continue with a nod. The common folk cheered. 

 

“Now that most of the urgent matters are taken care of and spring provided us with peace and prosperity, I want to cement the newfound hope and use part of our riches for the commission of a few statues. One for Robb and one for Rickon, of course. But also for the heroes who gave their lives during the Battle of Ice and Fire to defend us from the dead. That being said, our sculptors shall make statues of the little Lady Lyanna Mormont, brave beyond her years, Lord Beric Dondarrion, who saved my sister’s life, Theon Greyjoy, who saved my brother’s life, and a few others.”

 

Sansa held her breath as she paused her speech and studied the faces in the crowd. Most were smiling and nodding, and she realised that Theon’s bad reputation wasn’t that well known amongst lowborn, and those who had despised him the most were already dead. Theon Greyjoy was just another name, and if the Queen said it was the name of an hero, than that’s what it was. She smiled and moved on to another topics, telling the northerners about another plans and small victories from the first year of her reign, omitting a few barely relevant blows. After all, the point was to boost morality, and the wolf was more than successful at that. 

  
  
  
  


*

 

Two more years had passed when the statues were finished, giving time to everyone who had previously disliked the idea to adjust their mindsets. The sculptor only remembered Theon from his time as a ward, so that was pretty much how the statue came to life. Sansa didn’t make mention of his lack of a pinky, or… his lack of other body parts. Stone Theon was whole and handsome and brave. In his armour, a large kraken, and in his hands, bow and arrow, which he aimed fiercely at an unseen enemy. The pedestal was inscribed with the words  _ Prince Theon of the Iron Islands, a Greyjoy and a Stark. Ward of the North. Hero of the Battle of Ice and Fire. Died protecting the King Bran, the Broken.  _

 

Yara bent over to read the inscription, and Sansa was glad that the ironborn Queen was literate unlike most of her people, as she did not want to read it out loud. The Greyjoy by her side had travelled to the North for the first time in a couple of years just to see the statue finished and she still had not uttered a word about it, leaving Sansa anxious and expectant.

 

“You really made him look good, aye. I barely recognized my brother.” Yara chuckled, finally emitting an opinion. “Nice little touch, having the Greyjoy come first.”

 

“He was a Greyjoy first, after all. It seemed fair.” Sansa responded. 

 

They faced each other, with the ironborn extending her arm. The wolf answered by holding Yara’s elbow and their gaze shared a silent exchange. Sansa was grateful, as she didn’t find herself capable of putting her feelings into words. 

 

“I think I speak for my brother when I say thank you.”

 

The red wolf nodded and glanced at the statue once again. How badly she wanted it to  _ truly _ come to life. A whole, handsome, brave Theon, because he deserved to be all of those things, and he deserved to be alive by their side instead of a stone version of him. In the end, Sansa didn’t feel like the one who should be thanked. She wanted to thank Yara for giving her blessing, and she wanted to thank her bannermen for allowing it to come to fruition. Most of all, she wanted to thank Theon for risking everything to save her when all hope seemed lost. 

 

He never knew he had saved two Queens and a King. 

 

But she did, and the North remembers.

**Author's Note:**

> I am still sad over Theon's death as you can see. 
> 
> Well, I didn't plan for this story to be so long but it just kept writing itself and I couldn't stop!!! 
> 
> After I was almost finished, I also had this idea of writing about Sansa meeting one of Theon's bastard. A girl of ten from winter town, who she takes under her protection and allows her to use the surname Snow. I just thought it could be a sweet interaction, but I don't know if I will write it or not. 
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story and that I stayed true to the characters. Towards the end it might have felt rushed, because I was honestly tired at a certain point... I still wanted it to have a decent ending and I hope it wasn't disappointing!


End file.
